Flightless Bird, American Mouth
by juviaslocksers
Summary: Alfred F. Jones was at the top of his game as a hit man, but once he meets the able and alluring Arthur Kirkland, who happens to be on his case, Jones's life takes a turn for the bittersweet. What Jones doesn't know is that Arthur just might be able to save both of their lives.
1. Pilot

**Warning: Violence, Language, Possible Sexual Stuff once I get more into this~**

**Alright, so this is my first Hetalia fic! I might as well start off with my OTP, USUK. I seriously love them so much, words cannot express my love (kinda awkward cause this will have lots of words in it). I was stalking someone's tumblr (a lot of it is USUK) and it was actually physically painful to keep scrolling because... I think you get my point.**

**So I got the idea for this fic from the link below, and I seriously couldn't resist the Bodyguard x Assassin idea. I absolutely NEED you guys to tell me how I did and if you want me to go with it and write more. I probably will anyway. Thanks! (Just get rid of parentheses for the link.)**

**(sweet-land-of-libertea)(.tumblr).(com/)post/37192054362/quick-sketchlation-from-kkrs-new-sketch-log**

* * *

_Esch-sur-Alzette, Luxembourg; December 31, 2012; 11:04 PM_

The buzzing in my ears ceased. I adjusted my earpiece impatiently. I didn't want to waste any time. I was finally part of the big league.

_Anytime now._

"J-Jones? Jones, do you copy?"

"This is Jones, I copy."

"What is your position?"

"The roof, sir."

"Don't start smart-assing me, boy."

"Apologies, sir."

I shivered. God, was it freezing up there. I adjusted my thin blazer, fixing the bite-size pocket that was supposed to hold who knows what. I explained to Chief how close I was to the target, my "guesstimating" spot on, as usual. I adjusted my scarf for the fifth time that hour. I was almost nervous. I could hear my voice shaking. Why was my voice shaking? This wasn't my first mission. My colored contacts itched. My shoes seemed too small. I sighed.

"Just tired, Jones?"

"That must be the case."

"Keep your head up. This one shouldn't take long. He's an old hag. As usual, call in if anything unexpected occurs. Good luck to you, Jones."

"Yes, sir."

I slipped the blazer forward to cover more of my torso. I rubbed my hands and covered my ears. I could feel that the Chief was wrong. This was going to be a long night.

I silently dropped from the roof, quietly landing in front of the east door. No one was around. Everyone was inside. I casually slipped in, smiling pleasantly as the band played a faintly familiar tune.

I was simply late to the party. Took the long way. Traffic. These people knew me, sadly. These were reasonable excuses. It was unfortunate that I would never see them again. These people were actually likable, no matter how social. They made me laugh; I had drinks with them.

Chief trusted me enough to let me form fairly strong bonds with these people. Makes my performance all the better and more believable. I knew the old hag's sister, Auréliia, and her boyfriend of four years, Toni, who was afraid of commitment. The hag had two sons, David and Christian, and I had met the eldest's wife, Leah, and their three daughters, Lux, Victoria, and Elisabeth. Nice girls. Decent singers. I remember having brunch with the old hag's cousin, Charles-Xavier. I went to his daughter's football game. She had scored two goals that day.

But never once did my facade break. Not once did it slightly crumble, wear, or erode. I had been keeping this up for months. Most of my other missions lasted this long. I was one of the best actors in the force. Not only that, but I had a pretty decent wardrobe changing time. From one outfit to the other was about a minute ten. Forty five seconds, if I was in a rush.

This should have been my last night on this case. The hag would die, tonight. He wasn't all that popular in this family anyway.

I greeted Christian jovially, complimenting his wife and explaining the cause of my absence. He nodded happily, drunk, and gestured to the wall-length bar. The hag was a fan of drinking, after all. I had been to his house only once or twice before. And yet, I knew every nook and cranny here.

I ordered a drink and sat down at the bar. I took a sip of whatever he had given me. _Wow. Strong._

I looked out at the crowd, talking, dancing, and singing. Everything was so pleasant, so calming, so genuine.

I couldn't stand it.

_I need to make this quick._

I made sure to greet some of the hag's sober friends so I had a reliable alibi. They waved a bittersweet goodbye, saying that they'll miss me when I leave for America.

He should have been in his study. Honestly, the amount of time he spent in there was eye-opening. I quickly retreated to the top floor bathroom. No one was there. Everyone else was at least three floors down. I flew in, flipping my jacket inside out and messing with my hair. I took out my colored contacts and slipped on my second pair of glasses. I put on a tie and a turned my belt to have the other side facing out, complimenting my outfit quite nicely, if you ask me. After making all the necessary adjustments, I looked into the mirror and started whispering to myself, altering my temporary accent slightly and speaking a pinch lower and huskier. Nobody would believe that Mickael Sauveur did anything suspicious that night. He was downstairs, drinking, then went upstairs to the bathroom. He'll be down shortly. Once I decided I was ready, I stepped out.

I was now a new person entirely.

I headed down the south wing, up the staircase to the right, proceeding through the hallway until I found the second door to my left. Here it was. I ran over the plan in my head again. I was ready.

I slowly opened the door, careful not to step were the creaky floorboards were. I saw him. He was so close, craning over a thick dictionary with a small stack of papers directly adjacent. Little shelves for books were everywhere and in the most random places. Light bulbs hung here and there from the ceiling, giving off a warm glow. Everything was just as I remembered.

I slowly reached for my pocket knife. I let it slide out as I took another step. I loosened my scarf. Another step. I pushed my glasses up. Another step. I was close now. He didn't look up. He was completely absorbed in whatever pointless obsession he had at the moment. Another step. I was within arm's distance. I could do it now. Another step. I could hear his breathing. This one shouldn't take long. What was he thinking about? One last inch forward. Now.

I hurriedly draped the scarf around his mouth, pulling on both sides, tightening it around his face, stopping his breathing from the mouth and all chances of yelling for help. He turned. I could see the alarm in his eyes. He had recognized me. I spun him around to make thing easier. I delivered a quick double-handed blow to his neck, stopping all flow of air. I slid out the knife. I barely even cringed at the sound of sliced flesh.

There was very little mess to clean up.

* * *

You know how those action characters say that everything happened in slow motion? Yeah, that doesn't happen. Everything happens too quickly, really.

I knew all the little secret passages he had in this house. Under his desk was a garbage shoot. It was going to be gross, I knew this for sure. I had changed the routing of the shoot when I had helped him with "home improvements" a month ago. This would lead him straight to HQ, where the body would be easily and safely disposed of.

Something was off. Of that, I was certain.

I searched his pockets. Three dollars. A ticket stub from the movie he went to see last night. The I found it. I grabbed the tightly folded piece of paper and grabbed the drafts he had on his desk. I searched through the old man's files. It was all here. I had hit the jackpot.

Once the body wad disposed of, I clicked my pocket knife shut and slid it into a flap in the back of my boot. The earpiece was no longer needed. I put it in my pocket. I slid the files through a much more slender and unnoticeable slot directly above the first. It lead to the same place. Chief would have all the information he needed in a blink. I casually strolled through the door and back into the bathroom. I cleaned the knife and changed my clothes back, taking my time for a change. I had nothing to fear.

Once back out, I decided that it would easier to just leave altogether and not have to explain anything to anyone. I sauntered over to the final flight of stairs where I could reunite with the roof. I regretted it immediately. It had gotten even colder. Not by much, but enough to make a difference. I could faintly here the instrumental version of Iron and Wine's _Flightless Bird, American Mouth_, a personal favorite of mine. I decided to stay at the manor a bit longer.

I jumped back down, only to catch the eye of someone. A someone with large, blonde eyebrows, piercing green eyes, and shaggy, sandy blonde hair. An attractive someone with a semi-muscular build, nothing much in terms of physical buff, but held himself like the epitome of authority. An attractive, possibly important someone who was standing below. No.

He was _waiting_ below.

What did he want? I didn't have time to converse with more people. Actually, I just didn't want to. That was a perfectly good reason anyway. But what would I tell him? He had just watched me fall from a five-story building in utter peacefulness. Not exactly another day in Luxembourg. I kept deadpanning.

_I might as well keep at it._

It was a shit decision, even though the alternative would have been totally fake and much worse. This guy seemed to know a thing or two about acting and how people can give themselves away. I had no chance against him. The devilish look in his eyes just threw me off even more. They glinted a beautiful, smug emerald. His pale, slightly cracked lips curved into a diabolical simper.

_Dammit._

"You do that often?" His accent wasn't Luxembourgian. Very thick. British.

_Shit, how do I __respond? He's wearing some sort of military uniform..._

"You got any badges to go with those dress blues?"

I tried, alright?

"My clothes are green."

I mentally kicked myself in the balls. That much I deserved. _You, sir, are a dumbfuck._

I stopped walking. Slowly, then all at once. He smiled warmly, though I could see little, sharp canines in his mischievous grin.

_Fuck, that's what he wants._

"I knew that." I turned to him. "Well, if you don't mind-"

"Actually, I do." I didn't know what was happening, but he took my hand. My pulse quickened and my eyes widened as he pulled me closer. Two of his fingers rested on my wrist as his eyes flicked up and down. He gently, lightly, hesitantly, placed a hand on my hip.

"May I have this dance?"

Is it safe to say that I didn't feel all that violated?

We, um, _danced._ It was actually pretty nice. It was even helpful that he took the lead, since I'm not really one for dancing. I'm glad I had been wearing really nice clothes. I shouldn't have been feeling this casual.

He danced very slowly to Iron and Wine. He was the first to break the silence.

"Why did you attend this party?"

I didn't even miss a beat.

"I'm a friend of Benji's. This will be my last time seeing him before I leave for America."

"Wrong."

He had caught me off guard. The smugness in his eyes had shown that he knew that he was right. I tried my best to look offended. I pulled away slightly. His grip tightened ever so noticeably.

"Excuse me?"

"Why did you need to go upstairs? The party's on the first floor."

"I was just about to leave. I went to say my goodbyes. Then as I was leaving, I ran into you." My voice and his got faster the more we argued.

"And you left by jumping off the roof?"

"I'm always told that I live on the edge."

"To the point of endangering your life?"

"Go big or go home."

"You didn't think about how this would affect people you know?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Isn't there anyone waiting for you?"

"E-Excuse me?"

"Is anyone waiting for you in America? Family? Friends?"

Silence. He must have figured that he had struck a nerve.

"Wrong," I muttered.

The man hesitated, then softly asked, "Then why'd you do it?"

I didn't respond. I at least had a little bit of dignity left after it was sharply cut down in a matter of seconds. I was pathetic. I was a pitiful excuse for a spy. Hell, the only reason I had trusted the Chief was that he payed a pretty penny for a difficult, successful mission. But that was the thing.

I didn't trust anyone. And that was my problem.

I loosened my grip further as he held on tighter. _Why didn't he just leave me here?_ All signs of victory over me had left his face. He actually looked... sympathetic. Not that it mattered. I didn't need his or anyone else's sympathy. I finally tried pulling away. For a second I thought I saw him reaching back out to me.

"I gotta go."

I slowly detached myself from the man and had begun to turn around when he spoke up one last time.

"My name's Arthur, by the way."

I kept walking.

* * *

_Alfred's apartment, Luxembourg; January 1, 2013; 1:43 AM_

I threw up the shower switch, watching the freezing water slowly warm up. The water was too loud as it hit the linoleum too hard. The doors made little squeaking sounds when I opened them. My light bulbs were dim and my refrigerator was small. I always lost the batteries to everything in the little nooks and crannies where I put all my stuff.

I loved my apartment.

I stripped down and stepped in the shower, the now boiling water sizzling off my skin like fresh frying bacon. I didn't move. It was so relaxing.

I thought I had heard a thumping noise in the kitchen. I lived by myself. I decided to ignore it.

Once the hot water had begun to run out and my skin had begun to fold ever so slightly, I turned the water off and stepped out. The mirror had steamed up and everything that was on the floor was soaking wet. I stepped out in the driest towel I could find and turned to the room to the left. I sauntered into my room, shaking my hair out and putting on sweats and my real, prescription, half-wired glasses.

I heard the noise again.

"Alright, who is it this time," I muttered to myself as I made my way to the door. I opened it to the empty hallway. I heard it again, muffled this time. I whipped around and grabbed a dirty frying pan on the stove next to me.

"Alright, who the hell-"

* * *

**Word Count: around 2,467 (longer this time, yayyyy)**

**MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH A CLIFFHANGER ENDING**

**The reson I couldn't post another OHSFT chapter (not that anyone cared) was that I had been so worked up with this! I have been obsessed with this idea and have probably come up with at least three alternate endings and plots!**

**Anyway, this was NOT my idea. Credit is due up above in the little bold area at the top. :)**

**- Adriana**


	2. A More Formal Introduction

**So, here it is, chapter two.**

**Thank you, CorgiCadet, for the review! I am taking every bit of it into consideration. Arthur's whereabouts as to the status ladder, or whatever, and how the whole bodyguard thing works out should/will be explained in the next chapter.**

**I'm SO sorry this took forever, but I've been editing and editing and I want it to be perfect (though I'll probably find some errors anyway once it's published).**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy!**

* * *

_Where the fuck am I, For all I know I could be on the other side of the Earth; January 1st, very early morning - it's probably still really dark out_

I was in a dark place. I didn't know which place. But I did know that it wasn't my home.

I knew that I had just awoken; my eyes were foggy with the promising and peaceful pull of sleep. I rubbed them warily, not sure if they had done anything to me. For all I knew there was a tracker in my arm that would slowly lead to my demise or a translucent powder on my hands that would give me a horrid eye disease on contact with the cornea.

I was in a cramped space. Everywhere I moved, a rough patch of material met me halfway. I tried ripping a hole in it. I checked to see if I had slipped anything into my sweats pocket. Nothing. I could feel my jail cell being picked up and transported. I could feel myself running out of oxygen.

I dared not make any noise. My transporter was virtually silent, although outward, random voices carried on throughout the halls around me.

_Wow, not even the Miranda Rights? Rude._ I smirked, although I was obviously not the superior in this situation. Then I remembered that I wasn't in America yet. Regardless, if I was going to be put under arrest, my arrest-er might as well do things right, and I might as well make light of the situation.

My vision was clearing now. I still had my glasses, thank god. And I wasn't _completely_ naked, just shirtless. I could see little patches of light through the material. Burlap. I was in a motherfucking burlap sack.

_How stereotypical spy movie can you get?_ I thought, grinning now. If I was gonna die, I was gonna make this fun as hell.

I was abruptly dropped. I acted like I was waking up for this first time. My transporter loosened the top of the bag. I stretched, casual as ever.

"Evening, gentlemen."

The room was wide and filled on every side with technology the outside, common world couldn't even begin to imagine. It was chrome on some sides, and dark, shiny tile was scattered and pressed into the floor. Lights and buttons flashed and whizzed all around the room, little lights looking like a futuristic night sky. It was so peaceful, nevertheless. A nice change.

There was a man in front of me. Behind him stood a few others who must have been advisers of some sort.

The man standing over me almost smiled. He had choppy silver-gray hair, despite his seemingly young and reckless demeanor. His fairly pale, smooth-looking skin contrasted with the navy blue military uniform he was sporting, with slick black boots and dark underclothing. His bloody, dull red eyes were locked onto mine.

"Morning, actually."

He paced around my sack, my propping me up and scrutinizing, inspecting me. He tipped my chin up and then put it back, making me sit up straight and then hunch over again. I obediently, lazily obliged.

"So what brings you here?"

"I feel obligated to ask the same question."

"I don't feel like I'm the proper person to answer this. Kirkland, I believe you're better with words than I am."

_Arthur._

"Act as a translator of sorts for me, can't you?" The same British man stepped forward from a crowd of few. I was surprised that I didn't see him sooner.

"Yes, sir." His face was contrite and sober and everything I didn't want to see. I had wondered the preceding night about what he looked like when he smiled, or what he sounded like when he laughed. I had tried to imagine what he would do if someone told him that they loved him, or how he would propose to someone. These were idiotic pastimes, this much I knew, but for some vexatious reason, Arthur's memory wouldn't leave me alone._ What did he want? Why was he waiting for me? _

I had tried not to think about him. I had heard that the more you thought of a memory, the less accurately you remember it. That was, surprisingly, the last thing I wanted.

"When my agency heard of your taking a mission to assassinate a client of ours, I was sent to dispose of you."

_Dispose of me_. That had struck a nerve.

"I had tried to meet you halfway. Even though Takakashi-san didn't make it to the new year-"

The man with the blood-clouded eyes stepped forward, putting an am in front of Arthur. Arthur froze, slowly closing his eyes and almost sighed, but he caught himself, as if it would result in a fate worse than death. Regret practically leaked from Arthur's body.

"He didn't make it to the New Year?"

I could have sworn I saw Arthur begin to tear up. "No, sir. H-He was killed in his study."

The man paused. "Kirkland, come with me." He started walking toward one of the side doors, which fluidly slid open once he was a certain distance from them.

"Y-Yes sir." Arthur threw one last look at me, one of pain and remorse. His eyes were a dam on the verge of breaking, his pale, still cracked lips silently screaming, "I'm so sorry," and his arms wanting to reach out, reaching out, and his legs threatening to give in any second now.

I had no idea what to do. And I hated myself for it.

As he left me in there, all by myself, I felt like a coward. I barely new this man. _Why are these attachments growing so damn quickly?_

Then two men stepped up, one of slicked back blonde hair and the other of a smooth black bob.

"Where should I take him?" the second asked.

"Honda, take him to the cellars," the blonde huffed, crossing his arms.

"Yes, sir." The second gently took my arm and stood me up. I didn't bother fighting him. He had dull yet friendly chocolate brown eyes and porcelain skin. I was slightly jealous. _What products does he use?_

He took me through the door on the opposite side of where Arthur had gone. I didn't like that. As the door opened, we made our way through another hallway, this time a fairly crowded one with people here and there who stopped to watch the show. Thankfully, this guy didn't pause to chat.

Later we crossed a few more corridors lined with technological breakthroughs and down a flight of stairs. Then another. And another. The metal they used was starting rust down here. Another. It was creaking now. Another. This was taking a turn for the steam punk now. Another. Little gears appeared, connected and turning steadily, on the wall. They were rusting slightly, but still turning nonetheless. Another. The gears were larger now, and growing in number. I could see lights. Not the fake, fluorescent kinds from upstairs. But fire. Torches. Lamps.

Weirdly enough, the place smelled like rain and burnt marshmallows. I loved it.

I could see the floor at last. _It's about goddamn time_, I had thought. My legs were starting to hurt.

"Please forgive my boss and cohort," the man named Honda apologized. He hesitated. "Prussia-san can be very aggressive and straightforward. And Ludwig...well... he takes after Prussia-san. Almost like a little brother."**  
**

"Wait, did you name your boss after a country?" _Who does that?!_

"A-Apologies. Old habits die hard, sadly. Once someone had pointed out how much he resembles the stereotypes of the country. Never tell him that, though. He hates being humiliated. People joke about Ludwig resembling Germany, and I, Japan. My name is Kiku Honda, by the way. Ludwig prefers to call me just Honda."

"Well then, Just Honda, am I allowed to know where I'm headed?"

He chuckled. "You've been sent to the cellars, where you will remain until Prussia-san decides what to do with you. Most people stay here for quite some time, so I'd advise you to get comfortable. Also, someone is always assigned to look after every cell holder. I'd expect that you'll meet yours soon enough." He smiled pleasantly at me.

We reached the bottom floor. I reluctantly followed him down the corridor, a different person every twenty feet or so. The rooms-excuse me,_ cells_-were quite commodious, a definite plus. There was a bed in the top right corner of every room, a sink with a mirror, and a shelf sitting next to it, as if I would openly display anything I had with me.

"Well," Japan sighed, gesturing to the farthest down room, "this is where you will be staying. Your supervisor should be down shortly. I wish you the best of luck once Prussia-san makes up his mind about what to do with you."

"U-Uhm, thanks?"

"No problem."

And with that, Japan left.

I was all alone again. I didn't like it.

I sat on the fairly stiff bed as the bars swung to a loud, slamming close behind me. I sighed.

"Well, fuck."

A laugh was heard faintly a few yards down. Very Italian. Other than that, everyone else was pretty much asleep.

_How culturally diverse is this place?_

I lay down, staring at the ceiling above. Little rusty-golden gears chinked and spun in a rhythm that was nearly hypnotic. Before I knew it, I was out cold.

* * *

I woke to the sounds of the clang of silverware and the jingling of keys. I tried to sit up, but my body had become so weak and frail with sleep that even this instinctive task was being stretched to a feat. Once I had finally managed to get up, I attempted to walk to the front of the cell. This, again, seemed to be far beyond my now pathetic abilities. I tripped twice. _Shit. My leg's asleep._

After the torturous pricks-and-needles pain in my leg had passed, I clung onto the bars. I looked to my right. Nothing but torch light and other cells. Faint voices and murmuring could be heard further down, louder and louder, as I regained consciousness. _People are awake. They are talking with others._ My brain brought together simple puzzle pieces to wake myself up. There were no other supervisors, spare one down towards the very end that I hadn't noticed before. I looked to my left.

That was the first time I had gotten a good look at him. My supervisor.

His hair was an adorable sandy-blonde and fell in shaggy pieces to his ridiculously thick eyebrows. Seriously, I bet those things helped keep him warm in the winter or something. Below were thin blonde eyelashes framing his beautiful green eyes, which were sadly covered by his eyelids at the moment.

His lips were still cracked. It annoyed me to some odd extent. They were a sweet creme, almost tinting to a sky blue. Below that-well _fuck_.

Alright, I'm still not 100% percent sure which team to fight for, if you know what I mean, but _damn,_ does he have a jawline or _what_.

I just felt compelled to stare at him. Nothing creepy, mind you, but just to gaze admirably at from kind-of afar. He looked so peaceful in his wooden chair propped up against the brick wall. The smallest traces of a smile could be detected.

There were footsteps at the other end of the hall. There were getting louder and closer and sharper. The voices silenced themselves. Arthur stirred, his eyes revealing the thinnest slits of green. He looked at me. He looked away. He almost looked happy for a second there.

I didn't even remember him physically getting up, but he was at attention before I knew what to do with myself. I stumbled backwards, landing quite ungracefully on my bottom and stumbling to regain my composition. After I had grasped the few shreds of dignity that I had left with me, I sat back on the bed. The footsteps were getting louder.

"Kirkland!"

"_Yes, sir!_" His eyes were still and dark. His lips set in an unforgiving grimace. His hands immobile at his sides. His expression placid and sober.

I hated seeing him like that. I pretended to be asleep again. Not like I would have been able to hear anything anyway. Prussia was whispering to him. I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I gritted my teeth. _Damn_. It hurt so much. He was so close to him. But _I_ had gotten to _dance_ with him.

_Top that, motherfucker._

I sat up. I didn't care if he saw me. No, I _wanted_ him to see me. I smirked. I don't know why I was so proud of myself. I wasn't even doing anything.

Prussia leaned back. His face was somewhat hard to read. I hated that. I looked at Arthur. He looked like he was torn between crying and punching Prussia right here and now. As entertaining as the latter would have been, Arthur simply bowed and said, "Yes, sir."

But what really confused me was that Prussia did not look smug or superior or anything of the sort. He genuinely looked sorry. Like finally kissing that old elementary school friend goodbye after he made fun of you one time too many. Prussia was gone.

Arthur had waited until Prussia was out of eyesight before sinking into his chair propped up against the wall. I saw his eyes scrunch together, closing slowly, as if feeling the pain bit by bit. He ran a hand through his hair and sat on the floor. I didn't want him to. It was cold and wet and mossy on the floor. _Don't sit there_, I commanded mentally.

I had no idea what to do. And I hated myself for it.

It would have been insensitive for me to barge in or ask him to divulge on the topic, but it would have been awkward to pretend to be sleeping again. Besides, I needed to move.

I decided to just sit there.

After a minute of that, Arthur finally looked up at me. He turned away just as quickly.

"It's alright, you know. I've seen people cry before." He didn't move. "Arthur."

He didn't move. He had stopped crying, though. That was the first time I had used his name. I got up.

"Can I call you Artie?"

* * *

**Word Count: 2,457**

**Well, no cliffhanger this time, really. Sorry.**

**Alright, so for some reason I've been hung up on making a playlist for this fanfic, and I'm somewhat proud of myself for getting this far. I have a lot of Hunger Games soundtrack on it, to give you an idea of what I have. Other songs include: Hospital Beds by Florence + The Machine, Chop and Change by The Black Keys, and The Face of Voldemort from the Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone Soundtrack.**

**Post a review to tell me how I'm doing!xx :)**

**- Adriana**


	3. Tomatoes and Trumpets

**Here we are. Chapter three.**

**So hopefully you find this a more fun and light chapter like I did. I honestly don't know how you can't.**

**And thank you SO MUCH to everyone who followed, favorited, and/or sent reviews! I LOVE YOU ALL.**

* * *

_Still don't know what city, Still don't know what country; January 1st, 2013; early afternoon_

He looked up at me. He almost looked... _amused_. I guess a lot of stuff seems nice once you're told what you're told and you didn't want to be told that, whatever that was. He turned toward me, bringing his knees close to his chest.

"No," he muttered, smiling a little. I grinned at him. I wanted to keep this going as long as possible. Him being happy.

"So, _Artie,_" I started, trying to signal him to do something. Anything. Anything to keep him at it like this. He wasn't allowed to be sad anymore. I would make sure of that.

"Yes?"

I wasn't about to ask him what Prussia had said and make him sad again. But I had no idea what to say. I just wanted to get him to start talking. He was looking at me expectantly. God, his eyes are so pretty. _Shit shit shit shit shit-_

"Maybe I should start," Arthur murmured. He scooted over to where my bars were. I sat next to him. I tried to swallow back my social anxiety. Didn't do shit. Should have known. This used to happen all the time. _Damn. It's starting again._

"So. What did you do before all this?" It seemed innocent enough. My response faltered.

"W-Well, I had no idea that this would-I mean, I didn't want to do-I didn't even own a gun-"

"Perhaps I should start all of our conversations." He was grinning now. He was so beautiful. His teeth were small and dazzling and sharp, with four little canines peeking out from over and below his lips. His eyes glistened when he really smiled, with little flickers of red from the reflected firelight. _I AM SO FUCKING PATHETIC OH MY FUCKING GOD._

But I felt so warm. And he was so warm. And the bricks were just the right kind of cool. And the moss was so soft. And all the other people were talking and being happy and wishing happy new years so we could easily keep to ourselves and have nobody hear us. And the gears were all chinking in a rhythm that someone was beating a tin cup with. He/She was playing a song. It was getting quiet. This had caught Artie's attention, thank God. From the little melody that was being sung, it was something light and happy and relaxing. It sounded familiar. I had liked it a lot. She had a very nice singing voice.

"I know this song." Artie's eyes lit up. He sat up eagerly. People were clapping now.

_Ran fast for your mother, run fast for your father_

_Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers_

_Leave all your love and your longing behind_

_You can't carry it with you if you want to survive_

He was singing. He was actually singing. And it was hypnotic and flawed and a smooth alto and everything I ever wanted to hear.

_The dog days are ove-er_

_The dog days are done_

_Can you hear the horse-e-es?_

_Cause here they come_

I had heard the song before, but I never bothered to learn the lyrics. Now there was nothing I wanted more than to have them to heart. He was such a good singer. His voice was rough and British and thick but flowed like a river. A river of melted chocolate, goddammit. He could even hit the high notes and still sound somewhat manly.

I must admit, I was jealous. Jealous that he could converse with the enemy so easily. Jealous that his voice was beautiful and right and so was everything else about him. Jealous that I wouldn't be able to leave him but he could probably leave me at the blink of an eye. Jealous that he was on the inside looking out.

But it was then that I realized that I loved him. That I was happy around him. That he was a wonderful person. That I still barely knew him.

What kind of love, I wasn't that sure of just yet. I was never one to fall quickly, but checking to see how deep the rabbit hole was just wasn't necessary this time. I wanted to fall. I wanted to love him. I didn't know why.

And as much as I couldn't see him loving me back, I didn't mind all that much. As long as he was happy.

He finally looked back towards me, grinning and cheeky and British. _No. Look back. Keep singing. The song's not over yet._

But it was, and so he kept looking at me pleasantly.

"I used to be a singer, you know. Part of the big bands. I was best friends with a bari sax player. We even played for the queen once. Probably the best day of my life, so far." He rested his head against the mossy wall as the others laughed and pretended that they weren't stuck here. They were a few more supervisors now. They were nonchalantly chatting with everyone else as I was with Arthur.

_This place isn't so bad._

I brushed my hand up against the bars and left it on the knee closest to Arthur. He locked eyes with me. _Shit._

"And what about you?"

_SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT-_

"Ah, I used to... uh, well, for a while I was a sub-substitute teacher-"

His eyes sparkled with attentiveness as he leaned closer. I could smell the mint on his breath. It was near intoxicating. I loved spearmint gum. "What did you major in?"

"A-American history," I stammered. He was so close. I was sort of glad that the bars were pretty spaced out. I could easily slip my entire arm through them.

"That must have been hard," he sighed. "I never had time to go to college. Right after high school, it was with the band and we were out of there. No regrets, though." His eyes flickered over to me. "Can you coherently respond this time?"

I huffed, not amused. This was apparently not the case with my newest cohort. I nodded furiously, my cheeks burning. He just laughed.

"T-That's nice," I started. _Now what?!_ "Really nice, actually. I can play trumpet, you know."

"Oh, can you?" Like he dared challenging me. _Game on._

"Yes, I can."

"Your favorite piece to play?"

_Shit. This would get out sooner or later, anyway._

I hesitated. I hung my head, not sure if that was completely justified or not.

"I'm Shipping Up to Boston," I muttered. One of my all-time favorite guilty pleasure songs. I had been discovered.

He didn't make fun of me. Instead, he looked a bit, dare I say, relieved.

"Birdland," he beamed. _Wow. Well, now having some of his background, it's fairly easy _and_ safe to assume that._

My face must have looked weird or something, because he just sighed and leaned back. "Well, _excuse me_ if I can't meet up to your Irish jig-esque standards."

I stammered, flushing madly. "W-What, no! I never said I had a problem with your taste in music!"

"Good. Then we'll get along just fine."

* * *

_Whhheerrree aammm I, WWHHEERRRREEE; January 1st, 2013; evening by the looks of it; people are getting tired_

I had finished a good portion of the meal they had given me. They, being the people were weren't supervisors but still worked here. I didn't like the formal and fancy look of them. Their hair was impeccable, though. Very well groomed.

I silently put down the tray I was holding and looked over at Arthur. He was leaning against the brick wall, quietly eating a sandwich. He was listening politely to another supervisor rambling on about the New Year. I could pick up bits and parts of conversation. He had a very thick Spanish accent, making his English a little harder to understand. I was glad that this was my native tongue. English is so damn frustrating sometimes.

The man was casually eating a tomato and basically spoke with his hands. I learned that his name was Antonio. He had wavy brown hair and nicely tanned skin, golden like Texas toast. His eyes were green like Arthur's, but Antonio's were deeper and darker and his eyes were a little larger.

"Oi! Antonio!" Someone called from down the hall. The man turned, smiling tiredly.

"Coming, Lovino!" Antonio shook his head and chuckled like a father would to his rowdy child. "He's just lonely, is all. Doesn't like to admit it, though."

I took the time Antonio took to leave to get up and walk towards Arthur. I cleared my throat, trying to get his attention.

"Hey, um, Artie," I started, my throat almost clogging up again. _No. This is an easy question._

He looked over his shoulder at me, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Yes?"

"W-Why are you down here instead of in the field?" I prepared for the worst.

He just looked at me for a minute. Scary as fuck. I thought that I might have set off a time bomb. I was right. Kind of.

He just kept looking at me. Then he looked down at his feet. He walked toward me, leaning closer to me than when we had danced together, uninterrupted, that beautiful first night. He sighed and tipped his head close to mine.

I could barely breathe. And for some reason, I felt that it wasn't all that bad.

"When I failed my last mission," he paused, his eyes flicking up to meet mine, "that was, um, that was my last chance to 'redeem myself.' Since I couldn't, I was downgraded. That's why Gilbert needed to see me. He was surprisingly calm about everything." Arthur tried to smile, but it was a lost cause.

"A-Are you dependent on this? This job?"_ Shit, too personal. Too sensitive. Shit shit shit shit shit shit-_

He must have seen the look on my face. "It's fine. Friends ask each other questions like these. We're friends now, aren't we?"

Friends. It was just yesterday that I was at the peak of my career. My first big job. I was just getting started. But, apparently, I wasn't ready, since my new "friend" was able to give me a nice reality check to the face when he used my own frying pan against me _and_ proved to me how good of a dancer he was in the process. _That_ was diabolical. Then I was taken here, stripped of my pride in less than a few minutes, and taken to my very own housing cell, and as of then monitored 24/7. Pleasant.

"Yeah, friends."

He smiled. A real, toothy, completely nonprofessional smile. His canines didn't seem so little anymore, now that you could see the whole tooth, his chin jut out, and his eyes scrunched together a bit.

This is how you tell if someone's happy or not. And he was so beautiful. And I loved him.

"So, _friend,_" he chuckled, stretching, "I've told you some about me. All I know is that you're into American history and might be able to play trumpet."

"So you _do_ listen."

"You think I don't?" He gasped, placing a hand to his chest. Very making-fun-of-actors-esque. I liked it.

"It's a debatable topic."

"Pro or con?"

"I wasn't being serious."

"It's a debatable topic."

"Enough of that." I laughed, trying my best to still make myself seem presentable and witty for Alfred. But I wasn't before, and he had smiled like that. I guess he just didn't care. And I was glad. I still am.

"Seriously, though, you gotta tell me _something._" He leaned forward again, his face inches from mine. I choked up again. I really couldn't say anything. What if my breath smelled bad?

"W-Well, what do you want to know?" I asked, backing away ever so slightly so I could relax enough to compose coherent words.

"Hmm..." he pondered, pacing back and forth now. "Tell me..."

_OH MY GOD WHAT IF HE ASKS ME IF I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND OR IF I'M STRAIGHT OR HOW HIGH SCHOOL WAS OH GOD OR IF I'M A VIRGIN OR WHAT IF-_

"Tell me your first impression of me."

_Even worse._

I licked my lips, trying to keep up my deadpan. It was crumbling; I knew it before it even happened. But I couldn't tell for the life of me if I was smirking or scowling or what. I didn't dare turn to look into my mirror.

"Well," I started, running a hand through my now rougher hair, "I didn't know what to make of you at first. It was all pretty sudden." He almost looked hurt. _Shit._

"But then a bit later, I thought you were quite gentle when you danced with me. You were pretty thoughtful when you brought up family and friends. Thank you."

I looked up for a reaction. He was looking at the ground again, but he was smiling this time. _Good.  
_

"No, thank you." I couldn't see why he said this, of all things, but I let the guy have his fun.

I lay down on my bed, bringing the pillow to my chest and hugging it tightly. He sat down in his chair. We were the last two awake. He looked at me again as I called his name, softly, for the last time that night.

"Yes?"

"Happy New Year." He just chuckled as I closed my eyes.

"Happy New Year, Alfred."

* * *

**Word count: 2,323**

**WEIRD WORD COUNT PATTERN WHAT**

**Anyway, as always, send in what you think needs to be sent in. And if you could recommend some good USUK authors for me, that'd be fantastic. Thanks for reading! xx :)**

**- Adriana**


	4. Promises

**This chapter was probably my favorite one to write so far. Please tell me if I did a good job with the last few paragraphs, though-I felt a little wary of those; I'm not entirely sure why, though.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

_Military base of sorts, Artie told me that we were back in the US; January 3rd, 2013; 5:10 AM - Artie has a watch, too_

I leaned against the side of the cell, wondering how long I'll be here. It wasn't that bad, though. It was just getting kinda stuffy and cramped in the cellars. There were only a few windows down here, and those led upstairs to the hallways. But I shouldn't have been complaining; there were others who had endured this longer than I have.

I yawned, still awake when everyone else was out cold. I couldn't sleep. Don't ask me why. I just wasn't tired, is all.

After approximately an hour of sneaking glances at Artie, staring at myself in the mirror, staring at the gears, and trying to shush my growling stomach, I could hear footsteps. I silently speed walked over to the front of my cell. I stretched my path of vision as far as I could to see who it was. _Prussia. Shit._

There were two others with him. Germany and Japan. Germany didn't show any emotion-_smart guy_- while Japan looked like he didn't want to be here. I didn't blame him. Prussia had some sort of air horn with him. He grinned as he raised it to eye-level. Japan flinched. _Oh, don't you dare._

That thing was louder than I expected. But the reaction was, believe it or not, very funny. _Everyone_ jumped, even "intimidating" Germany, and all the prisoners and supervisors rushed to cover their ears, including myself, though I knew what was coming. There was yelling-"Lovino! Calm down! Everything's fine!"- and complaining-"Ve? My ears hurt..."- and other unpleasing retorts. I staggered backwards, ripping my hands from my ears. Artie fumbled over his own feet in his haste, tripping, clutching the bars of my cell for support. I helped him back up. His eyes were still foggy with sleep.

"Everyone up!"

The squeaking of mattresses and murmurings of the people eventually faltered and stopped. We all looked at the trio before us expectantly.

"Good news," Prussia smirked. He sauntered over to the middle of the hallway and spread his arms like it was a welcoming embrace. His grin was actually warm and inviting. I prepared for the worst.

"You guys are getting out."

* * *

_South Field, United States of America; January 3rd, 2013; 5:27 AM_

"OH MY GOD, IT'S FUCKING FREEZING OUT HERE."

I gripped my sides, my teeth chattering and my right eye twitching involuntarily. The wind was a blade of dry ice against my bare torso. Artie had offered me his coat, but I refused. He was suffering as much as I was, so what difference would it make?

Someone draped a light jacket over me. I winced as I turned, only to see Japan smiling again.

"It'll be over fast," he promised, handing another to Antonio. He looked up gratefully, only to give it to who must have been Lovino. Lovino snatched it and bound himself in it, his eyes narrowing and nodding his head in thanks. Antonio just shook his head again, exhausted and just a little amused.

It was hard to tune out the complaints around me. We had just walked out of a tunnel of sorts, the shouts ricocheting off the curved walls and hitting me at every possible angle. We had just crossed into what Prussia named the South Field, or the Training Field. It wasn't much of a field as it was just another building with a translucent roof and walls. And no insulation, apparently. Prussia had said that it reflects the current environment, making it easier to adapt. _Bullshit._

Another minute passed, and I gritted my teeth, practically hissing as he lead us to the center. My toes were turning blue, along with my lips and fingertips. Prussia pulled some sort of remote out of one of his pockets and pressed one of the buttons at the bottom. The wind slowed considerably and warmed as a small portion of the clouds cleared. I looked up. It was still fairly gray outside, but little slits of light peeked out through the cracks in between. The temperature soared up into the high seventies. The ground that once was solid black dirt now softened while little sprouts of vibrant green grass sprung forth. It grew till it just passed my ankles, thin and soft and ticklish. Trees appeared in the distance, giving the feel of being in a meadow clearing just before a rain shower.

I looked over at Artie, and he didn't even look a little phased. He simply shrugged off the blanket he had been given. He folded it over his arm and admired the scenery. I elbowed him.

"Did you know about all this?"

"Of course. I'll have you know that I've been working here for quite some time."

Germany called everyone to silence. Prussia stepped forward.

"You're all no doubt wondering why I've brought you here. The answer is simple."

_No it isn't, dumbass._ Artie must have seen my expression.

"He's really a decent guy, trust me," he whispered. "He knows what he's doing." He turned back to listen.

"I need more soldiers. Most of you are either war prisoners or veterans of the enemies' armies who happened to get on my family's bad side. But this means that you have experience. You have abilities. Unfortunately, my spending too much time to decide this and keeping you in the cellars has likely hindered these abilities dormant. That's why I'm here. I'm here to help you rekindle these abilities and use them to their full extent. You are here to hone your skills and to later fight for me in exchange."

We all looked at either our feet or each other as we let Prussia's somewhat heated parlance sink in. It's not like we exactly had a choice. I looked at Artie. He shrugged and turned back.

"Since it looks there will be no protesters, let's get started. My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt, but you will refer to me as 'Sir,' and nothing else. Is that understood?"

A few _Yes, sir's_ echoed in the field. Prussia scowled.

"I said,_ is that understood?!_"

"_Yes, sir!_" Everyone jumped up, straightening their backs and their eyes widening in fear.

_He's scary when he yells; I'll give him that._

"Fantastic. Now. Some of you aren't exactly the physical type. You will each be trained separately with one of us. If I call your name, please step forward. Training with Honda will be Heracles Karpusi. Training with myself will be Roderich Edelstein. The rest of you will be supervised by Ludwig."

Two men were brought forward, both of them drastically divergent. The first was a fairly muscular man who was pretty tall. He had shaggy brown hair that fell to his eyebrows. He walked very slowly, as if he were about to fall asleep. His clothes were ragged and baggy, the bottom of his sweats skimming the ground. He wiped his eyes and yawned. He smiled politely as he stood next to Japan.

The second to weave his way through the throng of prisoners was who must have been Roderich. He sighed as he pushed his half-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. His gait was brisk and slightly rushed as his curl bounced along with each step, but he looked exhausted. Roderich seemed like the kind of person who was comfortable at the top, but this whole prisoner situation must have roughed him up a lot. He reluctantly stopped beside Prussia.

Prussia turned to Germany. He gestured to us. "If you'll take it from here, Ludwig," Prussia exhaled. He lead Roderich back inside with Japan and Heracles following closely behind. Germany stepped forward.

"I will be your mentor and supervisor of your physical training until you are released. Every weekday you will be coming here. You will start with physical for the first day, mental for the second, and so on. You will have physical every other weekday, just as you will with mental training, which is taught by Kiku Honda. Saturdays you have free, unless you're called in for extra training. Everyone has Sunday off. Is that clear?"

"_Sir, yes sir!_"

"Now line up from tallest to shortest. Go!"

We scrambled around, acquainting ourselves in less than two seconds each, our greetings being our hands raising to our the tops of our heads to see whose rose above the other's. We then moved to either our left or right, repeating the greeting to whoever was closest. This went on for about a minute or two until everybody was situated. We stood, tense, ready, waiting. Germany looked up and down. His eyes met someone down to my right, who was almost quaking in his too-large, run-down loafers. Germany quickly looked away and took a remote control, similar to Prussia's, out of his jacket pocket and pressed a white button. He turned, his back to us, as relatively large red and white targets appeared in the distance. A broad basket full of something shimmering stood by the target furthest to the left. Germany looked back at the rest of us.

"There should be enough targets for each one of you. Everyone needs to grab five of whatever's in that basket."

_Wait, so he doesn't even know-_

"You will stay in this order. When you've got what you need, wait for instructions."

Some of us meandered over to the basket while others almost ran. It was disorganized and unprofessional, but it was expected. We weren't foot soldiers. We were prisoners.

Fine soldiers, like fine art, are shaped. First, you supply the creator with what they need. Then, you give them something to work with. With the right guidance, strong inspiration, and a surplus of time, a beautiful and functional piece of art can be formed.

I was around the tenth or so person down, so I was the tenth or so person to see what was in the basket. They were knives. We would be throwing knives. _I guess Prussia wants a little more than just foot_ _soldiers._

I turned to find Arthur, a few people to my right, looking at the knives cautiously and running his thumb along the leather handles. They were sleek and silver and reflecting the slivers of sunlight falling back to Earth. The ridges were like curved canine teeth lining the top of a mouth. Lethal. I couldn't believe that they trusted us with these.

"Listen up!" Germany barked, calling everyone to attention. He held one of the knives in his right hand menacingly, whether it be purposely or not. "Today we will see how accurate your throws are, testing your hand-eye coordination. Everyone grip one knife in your dominant hand. Don't do anything yet, but follow my movement."

Germany set his left foot in front of the other, both feet shoulder-width apart and facing us, raising his dominant hand just above the top of his head and keeping his elbow perpendicular to his set jawline. His face was directed towards the target. His left arm was positioned slightly forward, as if he was about to reach for something ahead.

We all were dead quiet, the only sounds coming from the rustling of the leaves in the wind and the hushed sounds of breath.

Germany twisted his torso towards the target, his right arm flying forward in a perfect arch. The knife left his hand at the perfect moment, soaring and twisting and slicing through the air, creating a sharp whistling noise. It whirred through the still moment to hit the target dead on. The knife was stuck so far in to the point where all you could see was the handle.

Silence. Germany turned back towards us.

The little Italian who had complained about his ears hurting prior to the lesson started clapping. He seemed much more interested than the rest of us, and we were sitting on the edge of our seats. Artie joined, and before I knew it, the whole lot of us erupted into applause. Germany flushed, his bright cheeks matching the hue of the Italian's russet hair when the light had shone on it. He wasn't so bad a guy after all.

Germany told us to start practicing, to do the same thing that he did, and then we all broke the ice with each other, talking while we tried and failed, sometimes comically. Some of us were able to hit the target, some of us didn't even come close. The sun was starting to get more and more apparent as the day progressed and our arms tired. We _did_ get better with practice, though.

I was able to get three to stick in all, and one to hit, but not stick. Well, I did better than the fellow at the end, who didn't even get one on his own. Germany had to help him a lot.

Artie was able to get five to stick, and two to hit and fall. He was more experienced with this, after all. He looked pretty proud of himself. The only people who did better than him were Germany, a tall Russian fellow with a scarf, and someone with a panda strapped onto his back. According to Germany's results, the top ten went like this: Him, Ivan Braginski, than Yao Wang, next came Artie, someone named Berwald, then Antonio, then me, Lovino, Eduard von Bock, and lastly, Tino Väinämöinen. Everyone else just kinda brushed it off. It was only the first day. Half of us were running on luck, anyway.

After everything was over and done with, we were all taken back downstairs and to our cells. I gladly went back in, taking comfort in the clacking gears and comfortable atmosphere. Thanks to getting outside, everything seemed fresher. I breathed a sigh of relief as I flopped back on the creaky mattress. Artie smiled as he leaned back onto the brick.

"Doesn't that get uncomfortable?" I asked, sitting up and hugging the pillow to my stomach. I had forgotten that I was hungry. We had taken a quick break for lunch around noon, though.

"Ah, I'll be fine," Artie muttered, shrugging.

"No, you won't," I protested, hitting the bars of the cell. I called over to the person getting everyone back in their cells. He had the master key. He turned, raising his eyebrows.

"Can you let him in for the night?" I inquired, leaning forward. He shrugged, walking back to us. Artie just laughed, stepping forward and crossing inside into my "room" as the bars closed behind him.

"Nice interior design you got going here," Artie said, standing there awkwardly.

"Just sit down," I murmured. I patted the space on the bed next to me. He obliged, ruffling his hair.

"So."

"So."

It was the first day in the cellars all over again. _Shit._

It was then that I realized what I had just did. He was sitting next to me. _Right next to me._ And there weren't very many people left awake. And-_OHGOD SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT-_

"Why don't you have a bed, too?" I questioned, finally thinking of something worthwhile to ask. He paused.

"I honestly don't know," he answered, scratching the back of his head. "Antonio seems to handle it just fine. I guess it does get pretty uncomfortable. But I've been through worse than sleeping in a wooden chair." He chuckled, looking down at his shoes, stained a rich brown on the soles from the moist soil.

"Well, you shouldn't have to put up with that." _SHIT; DID I SERIOUSLY JUST FUCKING SAY THAT-_

"You think?" There was a spark in his eyes. _OH, SHIT, WHAT DID I JUST DO._ "Nah, I don't wanna make Gilbert angry or anything."

You have no idea how hard it was to hold in all the relief that came with that. I did want him to have better conditions, I really did, but the last thing either of us needed was to get on Prussia's bad side.

"Thanks for bringing that up, though," Artie mentioned, smiling at me. For one reason or another, it had caught me off guard. I returned the gesture, easing up a bit. He scooted a little closer. Barely noticeable. But I saw it. But I really didn't mind, though my pulse begged to differ. My mind and body were completely at ease, but they shouldn't have been. I should have been sweating and stuttering and stammering but I wasn't. And I was proud of myself.

He was very close to me now. I could see the small flickering of firelight in his gaze shift up and down as he looked at my lips and looked back up at my own eyes. The lighting was dim, but just dim enough that I could see the features of his face. He was so beautiful. His sandy hair lingering over his forehead, stopping just above his eyelashes. It looked so soft. I noticed a few freckles next to his left eye. They were a cute kind of tan, a good number of shades darker than his skin. His eyes shimmered with a simple joy that I had never seen before. The tips of his lips were turned up ever so slightly. There was less than an inch between us now. The hall was silent. We both leaned in at the same time.

It was then that we kissed for the first time. His lips were softer than I had expected, though they barely graced my own. It was light and soft and utterly lovely. He had rested a hand on my left shoulder and kept it there when I brought one to the back of his neck. His lips were cold, and mine hot. His skin was warm, and mine cool. We were opposites in our own way, but we complimented each other perfectly. We were spring and fall; we were the odd couple walking hand in hand down the street that you thought would never have a chance. But we did.

In that moment, we were more than cohorts. We were lovers. We were undeniable. We were gentle and everything we had ever looked for. We didn't need to meet the standards of others. We were the other's missing half, and if we were to ever lose that half, we would undoubtedly die. But we didn't mind, for in that moment, we swore that we would never lose the other, no matter if the other heard it or not.

We would see the other through. We would never let the other suffer. We would stay when all the others had packed up and left. We would stay. All these promises tied together with a simple kiss, with a simple gesture of affection. On such a whim were these promises made. But it would make no difference if the promises were made with paper and ink. What mattered was that both of us were willing to keep them to the grave.

And I loved him. I loved him very much. And I think it's safe to say that he loved me, too.

* * *

**Word Count: 3,263**

**Whoa, this chapter was my longest one yet. Also the most intimate one yet. ;)**

**Reviews amuse me. Please send them in if you have something to say! All are read, considered, and more or less replied to! xx :)**

**- Adriana**


	5. Matthias and Lukas

**I'm so sorry for having been gone this long! At one point I was just going through writer's block and I ended up almost forgetting about this! Ugh, this took a while. I do still hope that you'll read and review. Thank you!**

* * *

_The Cellars, United States of America; January 4th, 2013; 5:15 AM_

My bones jumped inside my skin as the horn blew. _Can't they think of a more subtle way of waking us up?!_ I shot a glance at Artie laying next to me, his jacket strewn across the floor by the bed. His eyes fluttered as he rose with much more grace than I had. He didn't seem worried by the fact that anyone could see us like this. To some extent, it calmed me.

And no, what you are probably guessing as to what had happened that night did not occur. As much as it may pain me to say, the furthest we got was when we went shirtless, and that was right before we knew people would start complaining. His mouth, however, tasted _fantastic_, to say the least. A mix of spearmint and, somewhat surprisingly, strawberry. I don't know what he had for dinner that night, but whatever it was, it was delicious.

As we were all let out of our cells, Artie nudged me. I looked over at him, and he just had that stupid grin on again. I suspect it was due to the more... um... _intimate actions_ that took place last night. I won't divulge because those happened to be _personal_ actions, thank you very much.

We were led up stairs and taken to the opposite tunnel from last time. We were heading north, and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. As we walked in, we were in a room that looked exactly the same as the South Field when we first entered. But in Germany's place was Japan and Heracles. Japan cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Hello, some of you may know me as Kiku Honda. I'll be your mental training adviser. Here you will be tested through many courses that may terrify you, overjoy you, or bring you to your knees."

_Way to lay it on thick._

"Some of these projections may or may not be real. While in these simulators, these holograms will be able to interact with you. Your reactions will be recorded and considered so we can see which positions you can handle, whether it be a foot soldier, a mentor like myself, or second to only Gilbert himself. Today we will start quite simple, with an elementary cause-and-effect exercise. May I have a volunteer?"

We were quiet for a moment before someone stepped forward. I didn't know who he was. He had sweet hair, though.

"Thank you." Japan nodded at the volunteer. "What you are about to go through is a short series of tasks that will test your instincts and how you work under pressure. Some of these simulations will be real, and others will be fake. Do you mind if everyone can survey this so they have a taste of what they might be facing?"

The man said that he didn't mind, and was then ushered into machine that appeared behind Japan. It was about three times the size of a door. He turned, and his face was immediately awash with confusion. The walls of the machine seemed to fade into oblivion, leaving only the screen and the man, but something must have still been there, for he was pounding on the walls like a mime. He stopped hitting the air to speak; his lips were moving, but no sound was heard. He stood there, looking up, down, with his hands at his sides.

I just looked at him. He was standing there, almost bored. He looked up, as if something had caught his attention, and he quickly jumped to the right, bringing his arms close to his chest. His eyes were wide and scared, but he kept calm nonetheless.

"That was almost too easy," Japan muttered, putting his hands behind his back. I glanced up at the lifeless screen. It was pitch black.

"Is it even on...?" I murmured to Arthur. He nodded, his body tense and his expression rigid. _Then why is there nothing there?_ His eyes never left the screen. It was then that the small light appeared in the center. The man on the screen whipped around to it, his eyes softening. Another man walked toward him, a cross-shaped pin adorning his pale blond hair. He smiled warmly, mouthing something to the first. The first embraced him, wrapping his arms tightly around the second. The second seemed happy enough to be there, playfully whispering something in his ear. The first grinned, resting his head in the crook of the other's neck.

The light had spread to decent portion of the screen, good enough to have both of their faces and torsos completely illuminated. As it spread further, a small portion of screen in the bottom left corner refused to give in. Even in complete light, the area remained black. It slowly spread, its dark tentacles slowly dominating the screen. Eventually one of them took hold of the second's arm, causing the skin to sizzle.

_What the hell..._

He sunk to his knees, silently screaming. The first cupped the second's face in his hands, his eyes frantic and confused. He kept mouthing to him something that must have been of some importance, for the first took a second to reply, seemingly choking out his answer. Another wisp of black found the second, this time taking a leg with it. He grit his teeth, smoke now flying up from his body.

_How is he still alive?_

But that wasn't the only thing that was ticking me off a little. The second one was smiling. Not anything sick, but a genuine ass smile. In the literal heat of all this, why was he smiling at the first guy? It's not like _he_ was enjoying anything here. Hell, he looked like he was about to cry. Who was that guy, anyway? The second one? Was he his boyfriend or something? Brother? They looked somewhat alike. Same blond hair, about the same height, same skin tone, but the resemblances stopped there. The first had this sweet hairstyle where it was all flipped up, a bit like bedhead, but it looked really good on him. He had walked up to Japan like he owned the place, but now he looked like he was about to have some kind of breakdown. And, honestly, it scared the fuck out of me.

Eventually the black whips had taken the second completely, leaving the first on his knees with tears now streaming down his face and falling to the ground. He was screaming something at the ashes, now slowly moving with the sudden wind. He beat the ground with his fists. Again. Again. _What is he saying?_

Whatever it was, his prayers were more or less answered. I could see the walls reappearing now, the screen fading to black again. We could all start hearing his voice in a gradual crescendo to a now painful fortissimo.

"G-Give him back!" He screamed, his fingers pawing at the ground, his attempts weakening with every swipe at the air. "_Give him back to me! Give Lukas back!_" Japan watched from a safe distance, his expression pained and his eyes gently closed in a seemingly experienced silence. He looked like he was holding back or something.

_Why aren't you helping him?_

Heracles eventually took the man out of the simulator, whispering, "C'mon, it wasn't real, Matthias." He slowly picked him up by the arms, letting Matthias lean against his sturdy shoulder. "You don't have to use that anymore if you don't want to. It's over. Lukas is just fine. Do you want to see him?"

The rest of us just stood there. We didn't even look at each other as we realized the actual seriousness of the situation. We would have to go in there, one by one, and there was no fighting it. Japan took to the front after a period of deafening silence.

"Each one of you will eventually experience going through the simulations. You have the choice of your session being private, if that's what you really want. But don't overuse the option. Some things depend on how many training sessions you have chosen to be in seclusion. If you make this session private, there's a very good chance that your next one won't be. If you let this one go by open, like Matthias's, then you have the option to censor out your next session. It would be best if you decided now." Japan walked back off towards Heracles, giving us a while to leave us to our thoughts.

Arthur turned to me once the murmuring had started. "Which are you going to pick?" I paused.

"Open, probably."

"B-But why? Didn't you just see what happened with that man?!"

"Yes, and it's probably going to get worse further in," I answered simply, looking up at their sky as if I might find an answer there. Arthur was quiet.

"Yeah, that's more than likely going to be the case."

"Well, don't take my word for it. Shouldn't you know a little something about all of this?"

"This wasn't my area of expertise. I worked mostly on the field, anyway." His eyes momentarily shone with a mischievous kind of happiness as he glanced at me. "You would know _that_, wouldn't you?"

"Shut up." He grinned.

"_Don't you know it_—"

"I said shut up."

Arthur just laughed. It stood out amongst the rest of us, because he was the only one really smiling, as if he had nothing to lose. God, are we good at making light of situations or what.

Japan came back after a while, looking a little bit better emotionally wise. _Good for him._ I felt myself wanting to know if that Matthias guy was alright after all, and if that man Lukas is even alive to begin with. For all I knew, that could have been very much real. And, again, it scared the hell out of me.

"Alright," Japan said, his eyes scanning the crowd, "who's next?"

* * *

**Word Count: 1,700 exactly uwu [Edit: Turns out that I forgot to add the date and time at the beginning, so the count's a little off. Sorry—]  
**

**I hope this is good enough compensation for all my time gone! Again, so sorry!**

**As you can see, I'm probably going to incorporate some of my ships into this story because I want to. If you look at the Hetalia Wiki and find some of the human names for the countries, you'll see which people I'm using. If you don't want to, then just pretend that these are your ships and not mine; I don't really care. ^^;**

**- Adriana**


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